20 Good Men Hold No Secrets
by T.S. Polyphemus
Summary: Chaos is a laddah.
1. Sans shirt, sans everything

**20 Good Men Hold No Secrets**

—The Eyrie, whispered the imp impishly with a coy grin on his stupidly attractive and malformed face. —They say it's impregnable.

Ramsay flexed his shirtless muscles on horseback and grinned, showing off his pearly white teeth. —Give me twenty good men and some climbing spikes. I'll impregnate the bitch.

—Ooh, I _like_ you, cooed the dwarfish hunk of sexy man-meat as his eyes thoroughly inspected this tall, dark, and handsome Bolton lad.

 **. . .**

Ned sat honorably in his chair and stroked his beard wisely. He was an honorable man.

—Stannis, said Ramsay, —is the most singularly uninspiring man in Westeros. It would be wise to allow Joffrey to rule, with you at his side.

—Stannis is the true-born heir. The Baratheon dynasty is ages old and beyond reproach. Baratheons have ruled this kingdom since the first men were only boys. Joffrey is an ill-begotten little bastard born of incest and no king of mine. The realm will burn under Joffrey's rule. Stannis is a man of justice, honor, and peace.

—I see, said Ramsay seeing. —So what did you call me here for?

—My Lady Stoneheart ordered you to help me, said Ned with his voice filled with righteous honor. —As her lover, who has cuckolded me on numerous occasions, I obviously expect you to obey.

—Of course, Ramsay assured as he removed his shirt. —Whatever you need. Anything. Anything at all. How do you want to do it?

—What? Ned was shocked and confused.

—What? Ramsay was confused and shocked.

—Anyway, Ned sighed, —the Lannisters have a lot of knights. My men won't be enough. I need something if I'm to combat them…

—Ohohohohoh, Ramsay smirked as he comprehended the esoteric request. —You know exactly what it is you need. But you're too honorable to admit it. I'll pay them out of my own pocket. Just say it. What is it that you need? Some weapons? Hmmmm? An army, perchance?

—No! Ned Stark honorably hung his head in defeat. —I don't need an army. I just need twenty good men.

 **. . .**

—In a room sit three great men: a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it,' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it,' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the gods.' 'Do it,' says the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me: who lives and who dies?

Varys licked his lips in satisfaction. No one had ever answered this riddle correctly. But, he was also a bit nervous. No one was quite like Ramsay Bolton. He was taking a risk. But it was for the good of the realm. Everything he did was for good of the realm. Even the pederasty. Especially the pederasty. Ramsay walked over to Varys in slow and languid steps, only stopping when their faces were almost touching.

—Twenty. Good. Men. he snarled while dual-wielding daggers.

Ramsay knocked Varys over the head until he was unconscious and fashioned a makeshift cross out of the bones of his enemies. When Varys awoke, he was tied to the cross and heard Ramsay sobbing. He felt the cold wind blow against his gash.

—There was no pork sausage, Ramsay wailed shirtlessly. —My people will go hungry tonight…

 **. . .**

Ramsay Bolton stared at the manuscript in front of him. _It's too long,_ he thought miserably. _I need to cut out all of the good parts._ So he set to work editing and left a feast for the crows.

 **. . .**

—All we have to do is marry you to a suitable individual, then we will gain the military might to crush all of these rebellious northerners, said Roose Bolton dismissively. —That is how we will forge alliances and keep our heads. A policy of arbitrary torture is how the Mad King got a sword plunged through his belly.

Ramsay Bolton pursed his lips petulantly and kicked a pebble around. He wrung his hands, and tears came to his soulful eyes.

—What? You disagree?

Ramsay seemed to gain new confidence. He tore off his shirt. His muscles bulged. His hair became blonde and spiky. He began yelling energetically. —I don't want a wife, father! I'm a homosexual polygamist!

—W-w-w-what? Roose was dismayed. —But even if you _wanted_ to be a pillow biter, you _need_ a woman to continue the line….

—I don't need a woman, father. Ramsay smirked a smug smirk that took over his handsome face, but his dark eyes twinkled with righteous anger. —I just need twenty good men.

 **. . .**

Ramsay was cornered. He was only one man, not twenty, and he was up against an army. Thousands of Unsullied warriors who have never known fear. They were born of iron and forged in dragonfyre. They had killed their first baby when they were but children themselves. Yes, the Unsullied had never before encountered fear. But they failed to realize one crucial thing: Ramsay was fear incarnate. Grey Worm led the charge and found Ramsay sitting alone, with his back turned to the doorway. There were several scores of Unsullied crowding the hallway, all nervously glancing over their shoulders and trying to spot any Harpies that might want to hurt them. There was an open window that Ramsay would be able to slip through easily with his incredible agility, but outside that window was the rest of Daenerys's army, and all three of her dragons. Yes, Ramsay was cornered. This was undeniable. And yet he was completely calm.

Grey Worm began to shout, his voice breaking several times as he squeaked out the following: —Surrender and bend the knee to the Unburnt Mhysa Queen Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen the first of her name breaker of chains mother of dragons queen of the Andals the Rhoynar and the first men protector of the realm Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms the Silver Dragon Queen of Meereen across the narrow sea and consort of Daario Naharis the infamously roguish ne'er-do-well rapscallion sellsword! She is the most beautiful woman in the world!

Ramsay stood up and popped his top off while smirking. —Who's the most beautiful woman in the world? He flashed a little bottle of some strange liquid.

—Y-y-you are, please give me antidote…. Grey Worm fell to one knee and struggled to stand.

Ramsay smirked smugly without his power-limiting and sexually stifling shirt on. His muscles began to pop out of their sockets and burst through his skin. His hair grew long enough to touch the floor, white-blonde and shiny as flaxen gold, and his eyes became a glowing blue. The room filled with a blinding light. —You want the antidote, but you _need_ that bad pussy. How fast can you run?

He unlocked the cage and unleashed his pack of bloodthirsty kittens. Grey Worm immediately turned tail and ran away, helped by his fellow brave Unsullied who had been trained since birth and were elite fighters and were also running. Daenerys ran away on one of her dragons.


	2. For You

**Chapter 2**

Ramsay Bolton was not happy about his marriage. Sure, Reek Killjoy was the heir to the Iron Islands and she was very important, but she kissed like a dead fish and she smelled terrible. The first time Ramsay tried to give his wife some pre-marital pleasure, out of the kindness of his heart, it ended horribly with blood and tears and a full belly for Ramsay. Now Reek just moped around and whined about how she wished Stannis would take over the North so they could get married and bond over their shared passion for burning children. It was moderately hurtful. But Ramsay got his revenge. He had his lady servant Sansa Stark give Reek away at the wedding, knowing full well that they didn't get along at all. Then he had Sansa watch and make snide comments as he took his pathetic wife's purity.

Unfortunately, the marriage didn't matter because Balon Killjoy never died and so Reek couldn't have any hope of inheritance. Family reunions were always awkward and full of heated glares and hurt feelings.

 **. . .**

—The fires rose all over camp at the same time. It must have been _at least_ twenty good men. Maybe twenty-one. The guards say they didn't see anything because they were too busy counting the money that Ramsay gave them.

—Leave us. Stannis frowned like a stern father who just found out that his son spies on his mother while she bathes. —Malisendres!

—Yes, my king?

—You said that you could have stopped the fire at Blackwater. That one was way bigger _and_ more colorful. How could you not have stopped this? Have you betrayed me?

She took off her clothing.

—Yes, you're right it must have been someone else.

Shireen shuffled into the tent hesitantly. —Father, what is going on?

—Shireen, this isn't the time to be making funny faces. Stannis frowned like a stern father who just learned that his daughter no longer wants to marry him.

—I'm not making a funny face… Shireen's face filled with hurt. It looked funny.

—Oh. Yes. That's just how you look then, is it? Stannis frowned like a stern father who finds his daughter unappealing. —What do you want?

—I'm your daughter. I'm here to see if there's anything I can do to help.

—Teaching things how to read isn't what we need right now. Go play with dolls. Wait. Stannis shook his head surlily. —Actually, don't. That ended badly last time.

—Pleeease, father, I'll do anything…

Melisandrei whispered something into Stannis's ear. He frowned like a stern father who just discovered that his son died from auto-erotic asphyxiation.

—Anything?

 **. . .**

—Why should you bend the knee, you ask? Stannis frowned like a stern father who just realized that his daughter looks good with her clothes off. —I am the chosen of the fire god Rh'llor.

—Y'know, Ramsay smirked handsomely, —for a dude who's supposed to be the fire god's chosen one, you sure get screwed over a lot by fire.

Stannis's brow twitched with rage. He frowned like a stern father who was just told that his son has a passion for the theatre.

—Take it back, said Stannis.

—No, smirked Ramsay.

—I'll _make_ you take it back.

Stannis was a just and fair man, but even he had his limits. He turned to Maelysandrys who swiftly closed her robe because she was flashing Ramsay her breasts when Stannis wasn't looking.

—Mollysandra, I need you to do something, said Stannis wearily in a stern voice.

—Yes, my king, the champion of my light, the loins in my fire, she said, —what is it that you would ask of me?

—Bring me my daughter.

The princess had been resurrected by the red Mellysanders who was a priestess of the Lord of light because Stannis realized that he had no other heir. They cried and he swore to never hurt her again.

—Father, said the bashful Shireen shyly as she meekly entered the room. Her face was now deformed on both sides, from all the burns, but the symmetry gained through this deformity actually made her face far more attractive than it was before and Stannis was now getting all kinds of offers for her hand in marriage. —Oh, dear. You look upset. What is it? What do you need? I'll do anything to help.

—Anything? Stannis frowned like a stern father who just learned that his daughter may be having an affair with an older man who looks shockingly like him and he's not sure how to feel about that.

Stannis tied Shireen to a stake.

—Noooo, cried Shireen, —you promised we wouldn't do this again!

—It's for the good of the realm, said Stannis Baratheon, King of the sandals and the first men and protector of the realm, as Mollyandra set his noisy daughter ablaze for the good of the realm.

—Have you started the fire? asked Stannis.

—The fire rises, responded Smellyandrea.

He turned to Ramsay and grabbed him by the shoulders and shook while screaming sternly, —Take it back, take it back, the Lord of Light commands you to take it back!

—Alright, fine, said Ramsay who was beginning to develop a headache, —I take it back.

Stannis dropped to his knees and wept while frowning. —Yea, for the Lord of Light is go- He fell over and died sternly. Brienne had sneaked up behind him and cut off his head. Sallyandre was okay with that because she wanted to be with Ramsay anyway. They both hated wearing shirts. Ramsay took her to bed. Then Reek made a suicide pact with Sansa.

 **. . .**

Brienne, the strong and beautiful independent woman, who was also the strongest fighter in all of the seven kingdoms, stood on the walls of Winterfell with Sansa Stark standing right in front of her. Reek had already hit the ground, but she didn't matter.

—Oh, Lady Sansa, please don't kill yourself. I promised your mother that I'd deliver you to her, you know, said Brienne with great strength.

—Brienne, you are a beautiful and strong woman. said Sansa —Upon meeting you, I have realized how beautiful life is. I want to live, and be in your strong arms forever. Brienne grabbed her and picked her up with a single hand. She dangled her over the edge of the wall. —W-what are you doing?

—I'm sending you to your mother, snarled Brienne the invincible warrior. She dropped Sansa. Podrick was panting as he stepped upon the scene, having run around the whole castle looking for the noble Brienne the unmatched fighter and fiercely loyal sworn sword who hadn't told him where she was going because she doesn't like him.

—What happened? My Lady, did you kill her? Why? Why would you kill Sansa Stark? tears came to Podrick Payne's eyes as he began to question everything he had come to believe.

—It was a shadow!

Brienne threw a smoke bomb on the ground and ran away. She ran very fast. Podrick was sad.

Littlefinger teleported there with his teleportation device and, when he saw Sansa, he and Podrick cried together.

—She didn't fly so good... sobbed Littlefinger.


	3. Oysters, Clams, and Cuckolds

Jon Snow was coolly sitting before the Wildlings in the primitive boat. They were large, and ugly. They knew nothing but murder, plunder, and rape, but now they would lead new lives of opportunity. Jon felt like smiling, although he did not.

 _Such diversity…. The First Men were kings when we were in caves. They will really culturally enrich our dying society. We should stop oppressing them so we can all live in peace._

Jon Snow brushed his long, luxurious locks behind his ear, and the Wildlings all perked up suddenly.

–Shiny?, said one of them, thus speaking for them all.

–Hmm? Oh, this? asked Jon Snow, pointing to his wrist which had been brought to their attention by his previous motion. —This is a watch. It's a Rolex. Nice, huh? Jon said with a blank expression on his face.

—Gibs me dat, ordered another Wildling.

—Gibs us shiny, agreed the others.

—Uh, guys, it doesn't work that way. I have a right to private property so you can't ju–

—For da watch, said one Wilding, stabbing Jon in the stomach.

—For da watch, said the next, who stabbed him in pretty much the same exact spot.

—N-no, everyone, you have to stop. said Jon with a blank expression on his face. —Without me, th-they w-won't accept you. You need me.

They considered this briefly then shrugged.

—For da watch. Another knife.

Jon was at the edge of consciousness. _Could this be because of my privilege?_ he wondered.

—For da watch, muttered Fuckface McGingerbeard who went forward but hesitated.

—Et tu, ginger guy? murmured Jon, in a voice that betrayed no emotion.

—For da watch. Then fall Jon, with a blank expression on his face.

 **. . .**

Cersei always enjoyed the annual King's Landing slutwalk, as it gave her a liberating feeling of solidarity with her fellow wymyn. But this year felt…different. Somehow. Yes, as she felt the dung dripping down her face, she realized that something strange was going on.

 _I like it when Tyrone poops on my face, but that's only in private…._

People were crowded around her. —You filthy fucking slut!

 _Yes, I am a slut,_ thought Cersei confidently. _I have the hair and everything. I'm a sex-positive and body-positive slut._


End file.
